Chapter 238: New Tutor

’It’s like he’s terrified that if he accidentally likes me, he’ll burst into flames.’

It was a strange, isolating dynamic.

The knights adored her.

Butler Sebastian practically worshipped the ground she walked on.

Kaelus would gladly shatter the moon if she asked for it.

But Alistair remained an impenetrable fortress of ice.

His heart had been boarded up, the windows nailed shut, and a giant "DO NOT ENTER" sign plastered across his soul.

’Oh well,’ Seraphina shrugged her tiny shoulders, entirely unbothered. ’I don’t need him to braid my hair or bake me cookies. He’s Papa’s most trusted subordinate. As long as he keeps the ledgers balanced and doesn’t get in my way, he can be as grumpy and emotionally constipated as he wants.’

A few days later, however, Alistair’s administrative workload finally reached a critical, breaking point.

The Chief Aide marched into the morning room where Kaelus and Seraphina were having breakfast.

He carried a silver tray holding a single, neatly sealed dossier.

"Your Grace," Alistair announced, looking entirely exhausted. "I can no longer sustain the dual responsibilities of managing the Duchy’s logistical supply lines and serving as the Lady Seraphina’s primary academic instructor. Her curriculum requires a dedicated, full-time professional. I have used the Capital’s academic registry and vetted for a suitable candidate."

Kaelus slowly set his teacup down, his violet eyes narrowing with immediate, paranoid hostility. "You wish to invite a Capital scholar into my home? A stranger to teach my daughter?"

"He is not a Capital loyalist, Your Grace," Alistair defended quickly. "He is an independent, traveling academic. He possesses triple doctorates in Elemental Theory, Imperial History, and Spatial Mathematics. He has no political affiliations. He simply travels the continent pursuing esoteric research. He is impeccably credentialed, and more importantly, he is willing to sign a magically binding non-disclosure agreement regarding the Lady’s... advanced intellect."

Kaelus glared at the dossier.

He hated the idea of a stranger in his fortress. But he also recognized that Seraphina’s terrifying brain needed specialized fuel, and Alistair was currently running on three hours of sleep and stress-induced herbal tea.

"Bring him to the drawing room," Kaelus commanded coldly. "I will interview him myself. If I detect a single fraction of deception in his aura, I will throw him out through the window."

"Understood, Your Grace," Alistair bowed, deeply relieved to be passing the pedagogical torch.

***

An hour later, Seraphina was summoned to the grand drawing room.

She wore a pristine, modest white dress with a navy-blue sash, her dark hair neatly brushed.

She waddled into the room, fully expecting to see a dusty, ancient, white-bearded academic wearing tweed robes and carrying a stack of boring encyclopedias.

She stepped through the doorway, and stopped completely, utterly dead in her tracks.

The soul within her six-year-old body experienced a sudden, highly inappropriate system reboot.

’Holy mother of aesthetic perfection,’ Seraphina’s internal monologue shrieked, her jaw dropping a full inch. ’Who authorized this? Which casting director is responsible for this man?!’

Standing in the center of the drawing room, calmly reviewing a leather-bound syllabus, was the new tutor.

He was not an ancient, dusty scholar.

He was a man in his late twenties, and he looked like he had just walked off the set of a high-budget, incredibly intense modern K-drama where he played the role of the ruthless, hyper-competent, devastatingly handsome CEO of a multinational conglomerate.

He was tall, possessing a lean, sharply tailored silhouette.

He wore a perfectly fitted three-piece suit of charcoal gray, lacking the extravagant, frilly cloaks of the Capital nobility.

His hair was jet-black, the exact, rare shade as her own, and it was slicked back with flawless precision, save for one single, rebellious strand that fell casually over his forehead.

But the piece de resistance, the absolute critical hit to Seraphina’s aesthetic weaknesses, were the glasses.

He wore a pair of sleek, silver-wire spectacles that rested perfectly on the bridge of his sharp, aristocratic nose.

They gave him an aura of intense, strict, incredibly intelligent professionalism.

He was devastating.

Seraphina stared at him.

Her brain was flooding with romance-novel tropes.

The strict tutor. The cold professional. The glasses.

Without even realizing she was doing it, Seraphina puckered her tiny lips, formed a perfect ’O’, and drew in a sharp breath, fully preparing to let out a loud, inappropriate, and incredibly un-aristocratic wolf-whistle.

SWOOP!

A black-gloved hand clamped securely over her mouth just a second before the whistle could escape.

Seraphina jumped, looking up.

Standing directly behind her, moving with the silent, terrifying speed of a phantom, was Duke Kaelus von Nacht.

The Archduke’s violet eyes were not glowing.

They were burning with a radioactive, apocalyptic, and searing intensity.

The notorious, bottomless factory of vinegar within Kaelus’s soul had not just ignited; it had gone catastrophically nuclear.

Kaelus had seen her freeze in the doorway.

He had seen her eyes widen, and seen her lips form the whistle.

’She was going to whistle just now?!’ Kaelus’s internal monologue roared, a wave of fatherly jealousy blinding his rational thought.

’My six-year-old daughter was about to whistle at a traveling scholar because he possesses basic facial symmetry. This man is a menace. He is a walking hazard. I must destroy him!’

Kaelus slowly lowered his hand from her mouth, though he kept his grip firmly on her shoulder, physically anchoring her to his side to prevent her from running over to the handsome stranger.

The tutor looked up from his syllabus.

He pushed his silver-wire glasses up the bridge of his nose with a long, elegant finger. His eyes met Kaelus’s.

They were pitch-black.

Deep, lightless, and utterly bottomless.

Seraphina blinked, shaking off her aesthetic stupor. She looked at those black eyes. She looked at the black hair.

’Wait a minute,’ Seraphina’s mind slammed on the brakes. ’I know those eyes and know that hair. It’s him? It’s the incredibly sad, mysterious ghost-uncle from the balcony at the Imperial Banquet! The guy who called me with a strange woman’s name!’